Tossing and turning,
my body and my heart.
Restless, I remember
everything I thought I forgot.
I count sheep for hours,
there must be a million of them.
It's past midnight
and I can't get any rest.

Make me, break me
so you can take full credit.
My world is the size of a fishbowl,
here you are just to pour the water in.
I've got no gills but I'm like a fish
'cause neither of us have a will,
to us nothing exists past the window sill.
To you my life is a novelty
like an aquarium in your living room
but to me all you're cultivating
is a grave on display.
Am I hoping or choking?
Loving or loathing?
Your hands were supposed to be gentle,
so why are my lungs now being deprived
of every ounce of life?
What an effect you've put over me.

Today is a good day,
the sun is shining bright.
Maybe you'll meet someone fun
and you'll both hit it off quickly.
Today is the day you change,
all it starts with is a moment.
This is the time to shed
your shell you live inside
and finally be happy.
The sun is shining bright
and their smiles are brighter,
maybe you should join them.

You're wrong,
today is the same
as any other day.
Those people you know,
they don't like you at all.
You're annoying them,
stop pretending you're
apart of their group,
apart of their smiles,
apart of their world.
You're only an alien
and you will remain that way.
Get used to it,
there's a reason
that you listen to me.
That shell is where you belong,
showered in these rain clouds.
The sun will never shine here,
you will never fit in with them.
Give up already.

Her eyes are windows
into a battlefield I'll never know,
I can only glance for a moment.

Some of the worst things
that have happened to me,
I selectively block them out.
Life-changing moments,
I shrug them off most days
but a simple insult
or a passive-aggressive tone
inside somebody's voice
can send me on a new spiral
where these band-aids
start coming undone again.
It's always the simple things
that pick away at my fragile ego,
cloud nine lasts only nine seconds
if I had to pin-point an average.
I live with these dry eyes most days
but a moment of disrespect
can make me feel severely depressed
and suddenly the tears flow like a river
from an ocean which resides inside me
that effectively drowns me,
flooding my life.
It's ok to cry, I really mean it
but still it's hard for me to let out these
pent-up feelings of sorrow and shame.
If I could express my feelings
then maybe one day
I could think healthily
and even begin to move on
because band-aids are meaningless
when trying to cover up scars
and dry eyes aren't honest
when you're crying inside your heart.

My face is down in the dirt,
I have no will to get up.
This is the best way I can
take you into my world
even though I'd rather you
not enter in my psyche
because the words I write
come from a really bad place.
My face is down in the dirt,
this isn't a pretty visual.
Not uplifting in the slightest,
I only dream of reaching
unheard-of heights,
touching all the clouds
like a utopia in heaven
but I'm just a kid covered in dirt.
Dreams are dreams for a reason.

Cynical,
my stare is blank
every passing day.
Monotony
is the perfect way
to **** the human spirit.
You get used to
this mind-numbing feeling.
Your doubt of yourself
is no longer a question,
just a statement
you repeat to yourself
in front of the mirror
every day and every night.
You're cynical
because nothing ever changes
and you believe
that nothing ever will.
You're cynical
because you want to grow
but this soil is infertile,
everything you plant dies.

Most things
come together in pairs,
so it feels really weird
being outside alone.
It feels as though
I'm naked in plain view,
awkwardly out of place,
missing a piece or two.

These words
can't hold me tight
and tell me
it'll be alright.
I can only hold
onto these words
like a safety blanket,
I pin all my sorrow
deep inside them.

You overestimate
my will to stay here,
I'm one inch away
from ceasing to be.
I look inside my heart
and there's nothing left here,
what kind of cruel joke
have they played on me?
Tear me down
'til there's nothing left,
is this your idea of fun?
I don't speak like I used to,
I don't think like I used to,
I'm just waiting for the end.
I'm not attached
to the idea of living
some dead-end life anymore,
I'm sick of living just to live.
I'm sick of feeling embarrassed
by just existing within my skin,
what did I do to deserve
this all-out assault?
I believe I was judged
straight from the womb,
I've never lived up
to anyone's expectations.
No chance to feel human,
I feel like a freak in a cage.
I'm sick of being punished
for simply being born.
I didn't ask for this.

Sleep deprived,
dream deprived,
this role I reprise.
Mortified,
I fantasize
a better life where I
won't wear a disguise.
Touch deprived,
love deprived,
nobody arrives
when my mind
will strategize
how to end my life.
You give me
compassionate lies,
you can't explain my life.
Every day's a fight,
don't sugarcoat this
to make it appetizing.
Appetite derived
from depressive nights,
eat my feelings
way before they can eat me.
This temple of mine is volatile,
violated by memories tonight.
Get the ******* of me,
I wish I could say it all now.
Breaking apart,
I'm always tearing at the seams.
I can't dream
if I can't sleep soundly,
Peace deprived,
PTSD habits combined.
Loud noises
make me want to escape,
I shut down when
voices raise up like
the dead look in my eyes.
I can't stop when it begins,
I'm relapsing again.
I hate those lustful thoughts,
I want a hug from the heart.
Something that isn't so primal,
that ****'s so uncomfortable.
I'm too human
and that's the problem,
more human
than they ever were.
Too human to handle hurt,
the kind of human which is
accustomed to the dirt.
We're all destined
to return to the soil
but not much
will change for me
'cause I'm already there.
I don't daydream,
I do it all while awake.
Recalling my trauma
is probably why I can't sleep
'cause my life's
already enough
of a nightmare.
Sleep deprived
but never deprived
of these thoughts,
I wish I could trade them
for a place to lay my head.
If these thoughts were currency
I'd be filthy rich,
far filthier
than my outlook
on the future.
This is chaotic,
probably idiotic,
a periodic paradox of prose.
These thoughts I propose
impose injuries
on my mental health
but what else
am I supposed to do?
It leaks out like
a water pipe bursting,
and every pipe in this
house inside my head
is pouring out this morning
because the sun is already up
and it's no longer
a nighttime battle.
24 hours
can feel
like an
eternity.

If I live long enough
for someone to invent
a cost-effective way
to erase memories,
I'll be waiting in line
to have mine erased
on the very first day.

My mother, your struggles
will never be forgotten.
I feel that indescribable guilt
like the blood that flows
in my veins.
Your tired face
makes me so angry
with the world
and also myself.

Poetry, you're my escape
and I'm often abusive
when I write these words
with you especially in mind.
I apologize I wasn't able
to write happier messages.
You were here for me
when no one else was.

All the works of art
I've been able to enjoy,
these wonderful stories
which made me feel emotions
I didn't know I still had.
You kept me dreaming
about worlds that don't exist
and that kept me existing.
I love the authors
and everyone who made
their visions come to life.

Every food I've consumed
and the serotonin I got,
surely this is where I
spoiled myself the most.
I used you too much
and destroyed this body of mine
even though I was told
to treat it like a temple.

Anybody who's ever treated me
with any shred of kindness,
I thank you immensely
because I'm sure it wasn't easy
for any of you.
I've been a handful
and I don't know how to change it.
Just know that past all the hate
that lies within my heart
there lies an infinite love
for every single one of you.

The moment you leave me
for whatever comes next
after death,
it'll feel
like the final candle
being blown out in my mind
and it'll be the last string cut
which ties me to this life.

I've always loved the color pink
but all the boys called me a girl.
I was just a kid back then,
didn't know how to take it.
They said I should wear
only normal clothes,
even my family told me
I looked better in blue.
Every time I got new clothes
I was always given blues and greys,
never purples or pinks
'cause a different color made me gay.
I've always loved flowers,
these days I don't know what to say.
Liking roses and daisies
was enough for some to hate me
so as I grew up I settled
with wearing a certain face
around everybody else
'cause I was afraid of what they'd say.
Why does a color or a flower
dictate my identity?
Why can't a guy exist
with a little femininity?
I was just a kid back then,
didn't know how to take it.
I'm even older now
and I'm ashamed
of ever being insulted
by being called a girl.
Why should I have to lie
about the things
that have shaped me?
No, I'm not a girl
but I too appreciate things
that you say only a girl
is allowed to love.

Strangely relaxing
and oddly cathartic.
Things I never had as a kid
suddenly given to me
by a stranger on a screen.
Love and compassion,
a hug or some affirmations.
It's all here for me,
spoken softly and carefully.
Why do we get goosebumps
from such strange things?
This room only I'm inside
suddenly feels a little less lonely.

Not everything
is as beautiful as you are.
Not everything is neat,
collected and focused.
Sometimes I can't even form a sentence,
sometimes I can't listen to one song
for five seconds without feeling agitated.
Random anger,
random thoughts,
random mood swings
which throw me off.
Sometimes I spend weeks
getting back into the swing of things.
Sometimes things are bad,
sometimes I can't laugh.
Sometimes I say things
I can't take back.
Not everything is rational,
most days I'm irrational.
Nothing makes sense to me,
especially when the lights are dim.
It's so dark in here that you
can barely make out my face,
that's the mental state I'm currently in.
Not everything
is as beautiful as you are,
my struggle isn't relatable.
I know you want me to be normal,
that makes two of us.
I'm just a black hole
that'll swallow you up.
Some things in this world are beautiful
but not everything.

When did I become
so ashamed to admit a truth?
Afraid that what I'm admitting
will make me wrong.
Vulnerable,
but this shield of a shell's tough.
I put on this poker face,
hoping they'll never see through this
'cause beneath all this thick skin
is a man spread too thin.

Today I felt a little like an adult.
I walked into the grocery store all alone,
planning meals and crunching numbers.
Checking things off my list,
I felt at home for just a minute.
Nodding politely at other customers,
saying "you too" to the employee
who told me to have a great day.
I felt a little like an adult today.

Where's my chance
to set the record straight?
The words you write about me
inside of your mind are seemingly
marked with permanent ink.
You conveniently write me off
and it only takes one time
for it to do it's damage.
Those big eyes of yours
are perfect for overlooking me,
I'm used to being in the background
but how much longer must this go?
Cliches get old after awhile
so where's my chance
to set the record straight?
I want to be a hero just for once,
can't you understand that?
Your pity isn't appreciated
when you still treat me like ****.
So sick to my stomach
of being picked apart,
I already know things don't look right
in this messy closet I call my life.
I'm tired of only being able to exist
in the dark of the night,
even I want to laugh genuinely
while surrounded in the sunlight.
Friendly smiles, gorgeous photos.
I want the score to my film to uplift us all.
The hardest thing for me to admit
is that everything you have
is everything I want.
I've worked so hard
but where's my chance
to set the record straight?
A thousand stormy days
are only worth it if I
lock eyes with that rainbow.
When is my life's turning point?

Sleeping when you're sad
is such a double-edged sword,
you disappear for awhile
but the pain doesn't go away.
You only put it off for awhile,
it only amplifies with time.
How much blood pours
depends on how deep you cut
and sometimes the worst in you
won't come out
unless you dig deeper in the rut.
Sometimes holding it in
is worse than letting it come out,
it'll eat away at you faster
than anyone else's opinion will
but the fear and the shame
and the shadow that's sitting
just behind your name
intimidates you into choosing
a less healthier way to cope.
Some people cope
right until they kick the chair
while some can cope enough
to untie the rope hanging in the air.
Coping isn't always hoping,
sometimes it's procrastinating
and fighting alone is a fight
too many end up losing.

My circle's getting smaller everyday,
it's getting harder to be afraid of losing.
Friends are like revolving doors,
they go as quick as they come.
Better off alone, but is this true?
My self-destruction
corrupts my view,
the only thing darker
than a dark place is death.
Endless, endless,
it feels that way.
Selective memory,
I don't remember most of my life.
I was always overwriting every bad year,
telling myself that next year's the turning point.
The truth is I'm on a carousel
and I'm surrounded by bad days.
Wishful thinking is naive,
now my life is all blurred.
These pretty words she told me,
I tell her they're all heard
but when I repeat them to myself
they only sound slurred.
Maybe nobody's
gonna save me after all 'cause
my circle's getting smaller everyday,
it's getting harder to be afraid of losing.
Friends are like revolving doors,
they go as quick as they come.
Better off alone, but is this really true?
Would I rather die by their betrayal
or die by my own?

I wear anxiety
on my body like an outfit,
it wears me out far more
than it wears when I wear it.
Never wrinkles, never tears,
no not even one speck of dirt.
I don't like how I look in it,
every time I leave the house I feel hurt.
Just the right size to fit my body type
but it fits too right, can't get it off at night.
The fabrics feel like another layer of skin,
defining every inch of me I hate.
I don't know where to begin,
I wish it would leave.
My heart isn't on my sleeve,
it's under these sleeves
because this anxiety
is friendly to nobody.
Glorified like designer clothes,
I see so many wear it for trends.
How's that make me feel?
It pains me to no end.
To have this **** suffocate me
while silently watching others
wear it so casually, it sickens me.
This anxiety on me,
it doesn't expire
like passing popularity.
Glued to my psyche,
I can hardly breathe.

I've been in a place of silence,
I go days without seeing sunlight.
When I look out the window
all I see are these strangers.
I spend many nights with
ambient noises on YouTube
while writing painful poetry,
that's just how it goes for me.
My phone sits by me, it's dormant.
I don't get calls, I've never been for it.
It's because trauma from younger days
keeps me in this place of silence.
I don't go outside unless necessary,
get what I need and head back into secrecy.
I've gotten comfortable with this pattern,
it's not healthy most days but it's comfort.
My mind gets in the way when I've tried
to shed this shell I always hide in.
Lights off and dark curtains
to keep all of the light out,
my computer screen is like a Sun to me.
The blue light's blinding,
sometimes I miss nature
but I nurture these bad habits
which have me living like a hermit.
I've been in a place of silence,
I go days without seeing sunlight.
It's awkward to explain this
when coworkers ask about me
'cause I do the opposite
of what humans seek socially.
I'm sure they can't see my point of view
when they're deep inside their closed minds.
Most days I feel like an alien
stepping outside of my spaceship
when I walk outside my house
and return to my job that I work.
The world looks like
such a strange place to me,
when I view it from my place of silence.
I don't want to be treated special,
I just want to be understood.
This mental space is polarizing
and most days I struggle to live with it.

I can't lie anymore,
as a child when my Dad asked
if I had to pick between
God or my Parents,
I silently nodded.
And as he answered his own question,
I made it seem like we were in agreement
but really I got my answer
within seconds inside of my head.
I'd pick my parents every single time,
no there's no hesitation when I type it.
But when it comes to speaking those words?
As a kid there's a special kind of pressure.
You see, my Dad was very religious
and this was just another one of those days
where I tried to relate and I tried to create
the very same thoughts
that he created inside of his head.

But today I finally say that I can't.
I know it's disappointment I'm afraid of,
one of many fears that I grew as a kid.
When I was closing myself
off from the world, I only had one wish:
To be freed from these chains
that bind me so tight,
constantly holding me down.
In the name of his idea of a god,
I never would make a sound.
If there's a God,
today I probably ruined my chances
of getting into a heaven
which I was taught about every weekend.
I couldn't relate,
no I could barely read
the old Bible we had.
It meant nothing to me,
all I wanted was to choose my path.
Not a bunch of demands
to honor this faith
that was misplaced in my hands
because I never asked
and I never wanted for your beliefs
to be self-righteously
shoved down my throat
by the age of thirteen.
I wanted to sing these verses
to songs which I would secretly play,
not to read verses from Psalms
inside of this Bible's pages
because I couldn't relate.
You took my inability to relate
and decided to really retaliate.
You said if I took a step into the world
without God on my sleeve
that I would be hell-bound,
you called it a certain fate.
Well fate isn't decided by man,
nobody knows the outcome
no matter how surely you say it.
If I'm going to hell for honestly,
slipping my way into heaven
for lying to myself
feels like one hell of an irony.
No pun intended.
I love and respect you,
but I can't relate to your religion.
I only wish you wouldn't ignore me
with this truth that I'm speaking.
I know you'd be angry
and that's why even as an adult
I hide in more ways than one.
It's not just religion,
I hide from everything in my life
for fear of disappointment.

My heart is like a snow globe
and anything could shake it up.
My body's fragile like a thin sheet of ice,
just the smallest touch could crack it.
My mind is lacking a lot of strength,
I have to keep all of you at arms length
because even your purest form of love
could end up being lethal for me.

I already know this will be a mess,
this happens every time I dig deep
to get what's bothering me off my chest.
I'm a nervous wreck full of conflicts,
contradictions and so many ironies.
My life as I know it is in shambles,
something new crumbles down
once I finally fix something in me.
I have so much trouble with my identity,
or I should say my lack there-of.
I don't know who I am
and I have no idea what I should be.
I never fit in anywhere I stay,
I'm just an alien drifting
through every social circle.
Nowhere feels like home,
life has punished me so slow.
I never feel welcomed when I come
and I never feel missed when I go.
Everything everybody else lives for
feels like such foreign concepts to me.
Love is a hard emotion for me to feel
when I've been exposed to so much hate,
it's like an extreme toxin that stuns
all of this growth that's left to be made.
I feel like a child inside an adult body
and my god that's so uncomfortable to admit.
I've never felt one with this skin I'm in
and every day I just feel like ****.
Inside I am terribly conflicted
and I've got no idea how the **** to fix it.
Nobody likes to look into a broken mirror,
I try to reflect the world
but everything looks wrong.
My nerves keep my heart in my throat
and if I say too much it'll all come bleeding out.
I always want everything to go perfectly well
but all I ever do is make a mess around me.
This world terrifies me for so many reasons
but inside me is something much scarier
than anything I've seen.
God, I wish I was somebody else.

No matter the storm
I'll always wish you a good night.
I hope that pillow dries your tears
in time for a much brighter morning.
Beyond any other feeling I've got,
I'll feel gratitude for meeting you.
You weather that storm
so you can see the rainbow
through clearing skies.
It's always most dark
before you see the light.
Good luck.

It's like a horrible hangover,
this blur of a day I'm having
which never seems to end.
I've got no ambition,
can't even get myself out of bed.
Honestly I'm way too old
to be thinking like a kid,
I still feel my cheeks turn red
at the thought of being seen like this.
Is this what it feels like to be
so far past your prime?
They say "Have you any shame?"
It's not like I have anything else.

Thanks for reminding me
about that specific "model" guy
I've never gotten close to being.
I hate this world that operates
on a one-track journey.

Looking back at these
footprints made on the sand,
I'm reminded of the tears I once cried
and the prayers that once left my lips.
I'm right back at the starting line,
gun ready to send me off once again.
My face is sulking from more added age
and my eyes are shaded with layers of grey.
I carry all the pain I once accumulated,
earning my own purple heart in the process.
Every time I get ready to run this race again
it's that much harder to move these legs
while under this ever-growing weight.

I view my life like chapters
and this one feels like the finale.
There are only a few pages left,
this is the endgame to my story.
I don't think I'll be reborn again
and I don't think I'll make it to heaven
because they say if your life ends early
then you'll surely be punished for it.
I'm lost and confused, what else can I do?
Why should I believe in anything
when I can't believe in myself?
Why should I believe in you
when "you" has never been there?
I've been alone all this time,
none of this feels fair.
I can't help but feel raw and bitter
in these final days that are fleeting,
I've been forgotten by many,
I can't describe how I'm feeling.
Everybody else
can change and move on
like nothing's going wrong
and meanwhile my entire world's
been slowly falling apart piece by piece.
I can't help but feel jealous of you,
hoping one day I can get my rainbow
at the end of this torrential downpour.
But the rain never ends
and I'm soaked to my core.
Do the suicidal have a place to go?
Do we have any place to belong?
I've been looking all my life
for something I need to be,
for somewhere to be needed,
for any reason to repeat these days.

But I've found nothing
and to me today feels like
the first day of my last days.

I'm not some aspiring writer,
I'm just a dunce with a keyboard.
I just write the same poem
in hundreds of different ways.
They don't rhyme most of the time,
it takes much longer for me
to align the lines with rhymes.
I catch a rhythm but only for a second
because my writing follows no rules,
it's just angry, redundant chaos.
Like we don't have enough of that
in this bleak little world we inhabit.
My grammar
is as embarrassing
as when I stammer,
stuttering because I can't
even properly speak.
I only write to tear myself down,
it has been such an awful habit.
All of my life I've dreamed
of giving something back to the world
but all I've done is force my negative energy
because I can't accomplish anything.
I'm not some prolific mind
no matter how much I wish I was,
I'm just a dunce with a keyboard
and way too much time to think.

I've grown used to being
the alien in a room of friends,
it's clear I'm not welcome here.
Only tolerated,
I'm just an afterthought.
Never taken seriously,
just a memory somebody forgot.
When I was younger
I was upset by this
but today I'm used to it.
It still does pain me to know
that I'll never be known.
This alien body is something
that I'll always have to wear.
No matter how hard I try to ignore it,
I can't forget that I'm forgettable.

Listening
before speaking
has always been
a weakness for me,
can you teach me
how to let this go?
I'm afraid
my mouth will move
before my brain thinks
and chasing you away
is far more significant
than winning an argument.
What's the point in being "right"
when I'm sitting here all alone?
This deep, angry voice means nothing
without a higher one to compliment it.
I've gotta soften my heart now
before it's dead for good
and your warmth is
the only thing that can
bring this frozen heart back to life.
Teach me how to be good enough for you
because right now I'm a sorry excuse.

I want to be the kind of light
that you can take with you
into the struggles of every day
and I want to be
your reason to smile,
a source of strength for you
to never give in to anyone.
When you see my face
I want you to feel like
everything's going to be okay,
I want to be that kind of light.

Porcelain face, predictable ways
but still I fall for it all the time.
Your game, it's always the same.
There's no life in your eyes
no matter how beautiful they are
and you can paint them how you want
but there's nothing behind them.

The tears on my face
don't come often,
they pour only in solitude.
In public the cup's half full
but when I'm alone
that cup is completely empty,
used up and I'm dying
for some rejuvenation.
I'm dried up in this summer sun
that stays in my head year-round,
I can barely find it in me to move.
I want to feel alive
and I want something to live for
'cause right now I just bottle who I am
for the convenience of others
and it's eating me up inside.
These tears only stream down my face
when nobody else can see them.

Only in my dreams
can I push all of this aside
and muster up enough
strength to live my life
but dreams don't have to be dreams
if you never wake up.
The feeling of letting go
as sleep envelops my mind
is a drug you can't replicate
and the dreams constructed
are masterpieces I can't replicate.
We all know dreams never last

She was as gentle as the words
that he slipped through his lips
but the difference is she was genuine
while he played the part of the villain.

The calm before the storm.
It's always the most serene
before everything is destroyed.

That last breath of air
must be the most sweet
because it's the last moment
of peace before we leave.

Do I believe in soulmates?
I don't even know if I believe in belief.
I only trust facts, I can't bring
myself to believe in uncertainty
because that word is just like me.
So do I believe in soulmates?
Well I haven't had the best of luck.
Everybody just wants to **** and repeat,
I think I'm feeling too numb.
I don't trust instincts,
just because it comes natural
doesn't mean it's right.
If a soulmate for me exists
I should be ready to ship
out my heart to them in an instant
but I don't feel that way
and I never have.
Never had a choice,
never had a chance
to form my own opinions
before everybody else told me
what it is I should want.
Soulmates are just ideals,
a goal to keep you going
but I don't know if I should stick around.
People treat other people
like another chapter,
but if soulmates really exist
then they better be
an entire novel,
not a novelty.

Sometimes the emotions in my head
cannot be put into easier words.
I hit this irritating mental block
and suddenly I can't do anything.
I can't converse with my peers
and I can't enjoy my family,
the most menial tasks are not possible.
All I want to do at times like these
is lay in bed and watch TV lazily,
because that doesn't require any thought.
I can barely form a coherent sentence
when my mind is stuck in these blocks
and anything I write I end up hating.
They happen often these days
and they are ruining my life.
I'm going through one right now
and I was barely able
to put this together.
I wish I could be normal
for just once in my life.

So much to do, so much to see,
so much currently airing on TV.
So much to ponder while on the brink
with such little time to properly think.
I could watch this and I could eat that
but really it all feels mundane, in fact.
So much to write, so much I must fight
because I get this urge to grab the knife.
So much to explain that I frequently tire,
so much fear that I will be labeled a liar.
If they knew I was terribly wrong inside,
there's no way I could be let into their life.
So much to do and so much to see
but I'm stuck in a room I won't ever leave.
So much to process, it's too much for me.
It's become so much that honestly
I'd prefer not to think.

I envy people who can say
whatever it is they want to say
without ever feeling afraid
of what another might say.
I tiptoe around every issue
like the floor is a thin sheet of ice.
I bottle up these words inside me,
fearing the ice will begin to crack.
I can never say what I need to say,
all I have is my pen and this page.
While it's good for me to get it out,
it's never good enough on it's own.
Setting swords aside,
I feel that the pen isn't so great
because at least in my eyes the pen
is never mightier than the tongue.
My pen is very sharp
but my tongue is tied
and I think this is why
I'm tangled up inside.

I could get lost
inside your universe,
like a Leo your fire burns
an image inside my mind.
Bright like a blonde,
bold like a new woman.
You're effortless.

Brick by brick
I built this mindset
on preconceptions
I didn't really believe in.
How lonelier can it get?
The things I'm supposed to live for
don't really make a difference anymore.
Every conversation is awkward
and every "I love you" is empty.
I would say the "I'm sorry" you deserve
but I don't know if I really mean it,
you feel sorry for me
and I only feel sorry for myself.
If nothing ties me down,
what's stopping me
from floating away into
the endless void of space?
I stare into the dark
and it stares back,
it's like I'm looking at myself.

What do you think?
I wonder what it's like
to take a stroll down the street
that stretches inside your mind.
Are you comfortable in your skin?
Do you welcome what's within?
Where exactly do you end
and where do you begin?
What has inspired the words you speak?
What pushes you to extend your reach?
At what point do our souls meet?
I wonder what you think,
not the "you" I create...
I want to know you yourself.

I know the fall religiously,
it always comes back to get me.
It's hard to look forward
to the future ahead of me
when it seems like I already
know how it will end.
I never did enough for you
and now I get a taste
of my own medicine,
I know it's selfish of me to complain
when I haven't been the best of men.
I know it's not fair to ask you to wait
while I sort out these
complicated thoughts.
I think at some point
I accepted the fact
that I'd never be able
to accept another into my life,
I should've been as honest with you
as I have been with myself these days.
I spent most of my life pushing away
and now when I want it the most,
I can't have what I crave.